


In the Way

by orphan_account



Category: Bandoms, Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Confusion, Dreams, Drug Abuse, Drug Addiction, Fast Food, Gen, Reality check
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-29
Updated: 2015-11-29
Packaged: 2018-05-04 01:55:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5315921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sick City was safe, in the way that the contents of a garbage can were safe from the light.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Way

**Author's Note:**

> please leave any criticism or ideas in the comments I really dig it. this is gonna be hella sad though btw

It was late, in the way that the wind crawls at a snails pace and the sun said its last goodnight a thousand years ago. Josh was driving through dark empty streets. 

He woke up though, in the way that a thousand year sleep would be too little and the sun was too bright and his body hurt. He woke to curtains sliding, that horrible shriek of metal ring on metal pole.   
"It's noon and you're jobless."  
The usual wake up, then.   
He sat up, in the way that his ribs felt like sand and his stomach a boiling pit of sulfur.   
"I'm trying."  
He lied, in the way that meant he wasn't trying. He had given up a long time ago. 

He was job hunting, in the way that meant he was walking to various shops to talk to people that had already said no the day before.   
He didn't get a job.   
It was dark, in the normal night time way and he was driving to his favorite independent fast food restaurant. Sick City.   
Sick City was safe, in the way that the contents of a trash can was safe from the light. Sick City never hired anyone, he had asked.   
Intercom buzz, music.   
"Welcome to Sick City, the sickest city, the city of the sick. What can I do for you."  
A new voice, in the way that Sick City never hired anyone new, he had asked.   
He ordered, in the way that he had a thousand times before.   
And he listened, in the way that a small child listens to an unfamiliar bird make its call.   
"That will be $8.13 would you like to round up to the next dollar for some conspicuously unknown reason?" The voice was nice, and he did. He drove away.   
He went home, in the way that the fish tank is home to a salt water fish. He went to bed hungry, in the way that fast food leaves you wrecked and rancid. 

He was alone.  
Pivoting in an empty space among countless confusion, rusted tea kettles and confused tears and belt buckles with stains.   
The sky, if you could call it a sky, was light itself, in the way getting too close to the lightbulb is.   
Exhilarated he stepped from his empty space, into the confusion. He let the hands and knuckles and soft notes consume him, bone and all. He felt at peace. 

He woke up, though.   
In the dark, in the way that it's either morning or night and you can't tell which is worse anymore.   
His house was empty.  
His fish tank of a home was cold and unearthly. There were more shadows, and in the way that you know someone is bad when they put a knife to your throat, Josh knew the shadows were bad. They stopped shifting around as shadows do, and all seemed to see him.   
They swarmed like hungry beasts and consumed him. 

He woke up though.

**Author's Note:**

> any ideas? lemme know, I already have some plot worked out but I'm down for new ideas.


End file.
